


back and forth

by devilsalwayscry



Series: Post-DMCV Fix It Fics [5]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Demonic instincts, Hair-pulling, M/M, Oral Sex, Scent Marking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 08:11:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19808257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilsalwayscry/pseuds/devilsalwayscry
Summary: Part of the fun of demon etiquette, he has decided, is disregarding it when he wants to poke and prod at the beast. There’s a fine line between riling Vergil up enough to make things more exciting and getting his insides ripped out, but Dante is willing to walk that line if it means life stays interesting.Or: it's a slow day in the shop and Dante is bored, so he turns to his favorite past-time of harassing Vergil.





	back and forth

**Author's Note:**

> This is rather silly, has very little plot, and was mostly written with the goal of being light on the angst and heavy on the horny demon boy fun. Demon instincts are fun to play around with, so sue me.
> 
> I've listed this as part of my Post-DMCV series, because it is absolutely in that 'verse, but prior knowledge is not required. This is just some good, innocent, demonic fun.

Dante sits at his desk with his legs kicked up and chair tilted back, twirling a pen between his fingers, bored out of his mind. When they’d first gotten back from hell, they’d been wrapped up in a whirlwind of catching up with the rest of the crew, dealing with unpaid bills, and relearning how to live together again for the first time in thirty-five years. Lately, though, things have started to fall into a more normal cadence, and today is an especially slow day after what feels like three months of constant chaos. 

The shop has been open for a few hours now and Dante hasn’t gotten so much as a phone call. Nero and the girls are out on separate jobs, not that he really involves himself in Nero’s wing of things much, and though he could call them to check in, he’s not feeling up to the annoyed rant he’d earn from Lady for being “too hands on.” Morrison has not dropped by with new leads—he’s not expecting him until next week, anyway—and he has run out of paperwork to fill and desk drawers to tidy. (The fact that he has resorted to tidying the desk drawers at all speaks volumes.)

Vergil’s half of the business has been suspiciously quiet for the last couple of weeks, too, but he thinks that might just be because his brother has been trying to separate his half of things from the DMC name for the sake of his reputation or whatever. Now that Nero’s given him a laptop and they’ve gotten the place wired and caught up to the twentieth century, most of his communications are done through emails. Turns out people looking to buy items of questionable demonic origins are a little more likely to do so under the comforting guise of anonymity rather than an in-person trip to a shop front.

With how quiet the place is, maybe he should just close it down for the day. It’s been a while since he’s taken a day off--the few months they’ve been back have been mostly catch-up, because, as it turns out, disappearing into hell for six months really hurts your business—and the idea is pretty appealing. He doesn’t really have any other plans, but maybe he can convince Vergil to join him. Take the afternoon off, order some food, drag Vergil into giving him some attention. Maybe even get a rare and elusive cuddle in with his brother. 

He doesn’t really need to convince himself any more than that, so he unhooks the phone and decides the shop is closed for the day. Dante drops his feet to the floor and stands with a long stretch, keying in to his demonic senses to locate his brother’s whereabouts in the shop. He picks him up in his usual place at the back, a dull blue flicker in his mind, and after locking the front door to ward off any random walk-ins, he sets off in the direction of Vergil’s library office with maybe a bit of a skip in his step.

Vergil is sprawled on his back in his beat-up leather chaise lounge with a thick, musty-looking book in his lap, his attention focused on whatever work he’s got for the day. At his side is a notebook, his deft, precise handwriting spilling across the page in neat rows. He doesn’t acknowledge Dante’s presence, although he’s surely sensed his arrival, and that prickles at Dante a little. Vergil’s way too good at ignoring him.

Dante stops at the door and decides to make good use of Vergil’s inattention, at least, by taking a moment to stare. Vergil has adjusted to the relative normalcy of life in the human world with an ease that has surprised Dante. Sure, the first couple of months had been pretty rough, but with some well-timed mediation from Nero they’ve found a sort of balance. It’s no where near perfect, but Dante gives Vergil space, Vergil doesn’t kill anyone with grand schemes of power, and they fuck on the regular. Vergil’s comfort with the arrangement shows in the relaxed line of his body as he sprawls on his lounge chair, human and demon both quiet and at peace in what is identifiably his domain. Dante is reminded of a dragon curled atop its hoard, although rather than fanciful treasures, Vergil’s hoard is books and magical artifacts. The library is entirely his—his scent is the only thing Dante can smell when he's here, a mix of worn leather, musty paper, and spicy incense overlaying a sharp, bitter tang of copper and cold steel. 

As is only right when entering a powerful demon’s territory, Dante pauses upon the threshold of the library, and clears his throat in as close to an explicit request for entry as he is willing to get. It’s one of the many nuances of demon etiquette Dante had never really cared about, but had become devastatingly important with Vergil’s arrival in the shop; the first time he had entered Vergil’s room unannounced, he’d found himself thrown against the wall with a sword through his heart before he could even blink.

Although his brother doesn’t look up at him, he receives a small grunt in response—permission to enter granted.

Entering the room means that Vergil’s scent hits him like a jackhammer to the senses and Dante’s filled with the overwhelming impulse to leap onto the lounge and pin him down by the wrists, trapping him beneath his body weight and demanding all of his attention. He squashes the urge and soothes the demon that’s whining in his soul about Vergil’s disrespect in ignoring him. That’s a surefire way to get Vergil to toss him off and lock him out, shutting down any attempts at engaging with him before they can even begin. No, if Dante wants to get what he’s after, he will need to take a different approach than just rushing in head first.

He saunters through the room with a purposeful and unnecessary sway of his hips, though, which gives both him and the demon what they want by piquing Vergil’s interest, even though he’s obviously trying to pretend it hasn’t. Dante lifts Vergil’s feet to make room on the chaise lounge with him, pulling them into his lap and curling his hand gently around his ankle.

For a long moment, Vergil simply ignores him—he allows the contact and Dante’s presence, but he does not offer him a greeting, nor look up from his work. Dante’s filled with the childish impulse to tear the book from his hands and spike it across the room; if it wasn’t so clearly ancient and likely one of a kind, he would have, welcoming the stab it’d earn him with open arms. He is embarrassingly desperate for Vergil’s attention, a desire that winds up higher and higher the longer his brother ignores him, until finally it snaps and he squeezes his brother’s leg in annoyance. 

“Don’t you have a shop to be running right now, little brother?” Vergil asks, glancing up from his research materials to pin Dante with a questioning look in response to his grip. Dante shrugs, pretending he hasn’t just dug blunt nails into his leg, smoothing his fingers over the little crescent marks he’s left behind in apology now that he’s getting what he wants. 

“Slow day. Figured I’d close things down early and we could take a break,” Dante responds, running his hands over Vergil’s shins, creeping further up his legs until he hits the edge of the book, ceasing his exploration. Vergil is wearing a soft, worn pair of lounge pants that Dante thinks might have once been black, but are now so worn they are more grey—one of Dante’s, judging by the sorry state they’re in, and that sends a pulse of warmth through his chest and makes his demon purr happily with possessiveness. He likes it when Vergil wears his clothes. The human part of him likes how intimate and personal it feels; his demon takes great pleasure in the way it makes Vergil smell like Dante, enough that any other demon who might come close would know that Vergil is claimed.

“Good for you,” Vergil says, refocusing on his work, “but I still have work to do.”

Dante whines at him, bending himself sideways so he is lying over his brother’s legs. He folds his hands on Vergil’s thigh and props his chin on top, peering over the edge of the book so he can fix Vergil with his most pathetic and pleading little brother face.

“Come oooon, Verg. There’s nothing in that book so important you can’t take an afternoon off with me.”

“I have a ward to perfect for a very picky client who will be paying _us_ a significant sum of money. I believe that takes priority,” he explains, never once looking at Dante’s puppy-dog face, despite its proximity to his current area of focus. He is _evil_ , how can he just ignore Dante’s abundant charms like this?

“Do it later. I’ll even help,” he says, squeezing Vergil’s thighs a little with his words, replacing his pout with a coy grin. He leans a little closer, scooting into the middle of the chaise and wiggling under Vergil’s legs until he has his thighs propped in his lap and can curl around his side. The chaise is barely wide enough to accommodate this, but Vergil moves to allow Dante room, which tells him everything he needs to know about his brother’s current ability to resist his charms. “Let's have a nice night in, just the two of us. Everyone else is on a job and we’ve got the place to ourselves, no need to worry about interruptions.”

While he speaks he showers Vergil with soft kisses, first against his shoulder, then his neck, and eventually his jaw. Tucked into his side with his face buried against his throat like this, his senses are flooded with the smell of Vergil’s cologne, a heady and masculine aroma that blends with his demonic presence mouth wateringly well. This is almost certainly intentional on Vergil’s part, some special blend that sets every nerve in Dante’s body on fire every time he catches a whiff of it. He is drawn to it like a moth to a flame, and he nuzzles against the bottom of his brother’s jaw and breathes him in through his mouth and nose, savoring it.

Although his brother still does not look up from his book, Dante doesn’t miss the way that he tilts his head back ever so slightly, encouraging the touch with that subtle movement, and the acquiescence sends a shudder rippling over his skin. It’s easy to mistake the gesture as a sign of submission, but Dante knows better than that, now. This is more like a sign of tolerance—he is permitting him this indulgence, an opportunity to express affection (and perhaps fealty because Vergil’s demon is a cocky bastard that still considers itself a king) in a way that pleases him. 

Dante had been a little bothered by how quickly they had fallen into this strange blend of demonic and human behavior, at first, but with each passing month he grows more and more comfortable. It feels natural, a nonverbal language that is coded into his DNA. Vergil is the catalyst bringing out that half of him where no one else had ever been able to, partially because of their twin bond, but primarily because he is the only living being (baring, perhaps, Nero some day) that compares to Dante in power. There’s a constant battle being waged between them, a back and forth exchange to establish who is dominant, and neither of them are keen on backing down.

Which makes it exciting, in Dante’s opinion, but does mean he ends up with claws in his back nearly as often as he does a tender kiss on the mouth. It keeps him on his toes and he makes sure to draw a little blood to match whatever Vergil takes from him, because it’s only fair that way. Even now Vergil is the one setting the pace and boundaries, leaning into the touch and allowing Dante the pleasure of dragging his tongue along his throat until Vergil grows tired of it and pushes him off with a light shove from one hand. Dante leans back against the side of the chaise in submission to his request, although if he had his way he’d keep going, biting a trail down Vergil’s neck and collarbones, sinking teeth into the soft flesh of his chest and stomach. He can never get enough of him.

“You’re so stubborn,” Dante complains, trailing his fingers down Vergil’s chest and to the worn hem of the long-sleeved t-shirt he is wearing. He hikes the shirt up just enough that he can wiggle his fingers beneath and drag his nails across exposed flesh, and to his delight Vergil lifts his book to allow Dante unfettered access further up his torso. He capitalizes on it immediately, letting his nails sharpen into claws as he traces faint lines over the curves of the muscles in his abs and up over his ribs. He brushes his fingers over one of his nipples, pausing to roll it between thumb and forefinger, relishing in the little grunt this works out of Vergil, before he moves his hand south to ghost over his crotch with his palm. “And you’re already getting hard, so I don’t really know why you’re still resisting me.”

“Because someone needs to teach you patience,” Vergil says, lifting his gaze from his book to pin Dante with an intense glare, although there is, in reality, little bite behind it. It’s not anger that simmers in his eyes, giving them a faintly red inhuman glow, but desire, and a jolt of excitement shoots up Dante’s spine in response. “You can’t always get what you want when you want it.”

“Sure I can.”

To prove his point, he wraps his fingers around Vergil’s erection through the soft fabric of the lounge pants, reveling in the little intake of breath that his brother sucks through his teeth in response. With a pleased smirk he presses his face into the silky, short hairs at the base of Vergil’s skull, right behind his ear.

“Let me worship you,” he whispers, voice pitched an octave lower, allowing his demon side to slip into the words a little, giving his words an echoing quality that Vergil surely feels vibrating through his chest where it is pressed against his side. “I know you want it. You always want someone to kneel for you and I happen to be feeling generous today.”

Vergil _growls_ in response to that, a sound that is distinctly not human, and Dante knows in that moment that the scale has been tipped and that he has wrested control. As irritating as Vergil’s regal and imperial sense of self can be, it’s also a weapon in Dante’s arsenal, and he will readily admit that appealing to Vergil’s demon for the sake of getting the attention he craves is a risk worth taking. He wraps his fingers around Vergil’s cock and squeezes—to his brother’s credit, he maintains his composure through this as well, his only reaction to spread his legs just a fraction wider.

“Scoot up,” Dante says, releasing his grip on Vergil and untangling himself from his brother’s side. He complies with the command, willing, for whatever reason, to allow Dante the lead in this, pushing himself into a sitting position on the lounge chair. Dante tucks himself into the warm cradle of Vergil’s legs, hands splayed across his thighs. With a greedy hum he buries his face into the junction of Vergil’s hip, pressing open mouthed kisses against his pelvic bone and the taut muscle in his inner thigh. Burying his face in Vergil’s crotch brings the proof of Vergil’s arousal front and center in Dante’s senses, stoking the fire of Dante’s hunger for his brother until a shiver works its way over his skin.

Dante looks up at his brother through half-lidded eyes, appreciating the view of his brother in repose, resplendent and gorgeous in all things. Vergil is staring back, lips slightly parted and cheeks splashed red with the faintest of blushes. With a grin Dante dips his head, maintaining eye contact as he moves his attention from the crease of his brother’s hip to the bulge of his cock, lips closing over the still clothed tip, dampening the fabric of his lounge pants with his mouth. Vergil doesn’t quite squirm, but the book has been sat aside on the floor now, face down and forgotten, and he buries his hands instead with winding them into Dante’s hair. The brush of his fingers against Dante’s scalp feels like victory, and he leans ever so slightly into that gentle caress even as he mouths at Vergil’s burgeoning erection.

“Are you so eager to please me, Dante?” He asks, voice gone deep and husky with lust. Dante laughs, which makes Vergil twitch and bite at his lip as the hot air of his breath ghosts over his erection; Dante grins in delight at his victory.

“‘Course. Only the best for my big brother,” he says, reaching up to wiggle his fingers beneath the hem of Vergil’s pants. He jerks them down just far enough that his cock is freed before he leans forward once more, wasting no time in getting his lips and tongue on the soft, velvety skin of Vergil’s dick. Running his tongue up the length of it earns him the subtlest twitch of Vergil’s hips and the tightening of his fingers in Dante’s hair, both of which send a spark of heat through Dante’s belly. “I love doing this to you. Making you come undone with just my mouth and my hands.” He presses a kiss to the underside of his cock, then adds: “You love it too, huh? Watching me suck you off.”

“Insufferable,” Vergil hisses, lips parting in a silent gasp of pleasure. Rather than refute his brother’s claim, Dante grips his cock at the root and slides him between his lips, humming in contentment as he closes his mouth around him. The vibration of his voice in the back of his throat makes Vergil moan, the first genuine noise of pleasure Dante’s been able to pry out of his tight-lipped twin, and the sound is all of the encouragement he could need. 

He sucks Vergil’s dick with unabashed enthusiasm, a task he will never grow tired of: long, slow, torturous licks of his tongue stretching from base to tip interspersed between deep swallows that leave Dante gasping for air when he pulls away. By the third time he licks his way up Vergil’s length, his brother’s composure has completely crumbled, and the loose grip on Dante’s hair tightens into a fist that makes his eyes water and he thrusts into his mouth without a single care for the way it makes Dante gag on reflex until he has able to adapt to the abuse.

This is his favorite part—the moment Vergil’s steely will bends and breaks beneath the pressure of Dante’s mouth, subdued huffs of breath replaced with low, deep moans and growls of pleasure. Dante holds Vergil’s hips for support and bobs his head in time with his brother’s increasingly frantic thrusts, allowing him to set the pace as he chases down his release.

It’s not so much the act itself that Dante enjoys, but more the power he has over Vergil while he does it. Vergil is at the whims of Dante’s fingers and his mouth, the mercy of his tongue and lips as he swallows him down and drags each delicious moan from his chest as if he is forcing it out of him. He opens his eyes to look up at his brother, knowing exactly the indecent picture that he makes, and Vergil’s pace stutters and falters.

“ _Dante,_ ” he breathes, sharp and carrying an edge of irritation that morphs the word into prayer and curse both, and Dante moans around Vergil’s dick in his mouth in delight. He thinks, _yeah, baby, I’ve got you_ and it’s like Vergil’s read his mind, read the words written across his face, because as soon as he has thought them his twin’s eyes squeeze shut and he tips his head back as his orgasm sweeps him away into a temporarily mindless flood of pleasure. Dante swallows down his cum and clings to Vergil’s hips as he thrusts into his mouth, nails breaking and bruising the soft, human skin beneath his touch. When his brother jerks away a moment later, oversensitive and trembling with the aftershocks of his release, Dante goes right back to grinning at him. 

Dante licks his lips and rests his cheek against the inside of Vergil’s thigh, pleased with himself. The taste of Vergil is thick in his mouth and he savours that, too, how it lingers in the back of his throat long after the act is done.

“Was that a worthy tribute?” He asks, and Vergil growls out his appreciation as he pulls Dante up by the hair, forcing him to follow his brother’s direction or risk losing a handful to Vergil’s unrelenting grip. Once he’s close enough that Vergil can lean forward to capture him into a kiss, he thrusts his tongue between Dante’s lips and licks the taste of himself from Dante’s mouth. With a snarl he sinks teeth into his bottom lip, sharp and pointed, and when blood wells up into the cut, Dante lets Vergil lick that up, too.

When the wound has healed and his brother has gotten his fill of Dante’s mouth he breaks away, composure regained and expression once more neutral, although the faint pink that stains his lips and his cheeks gives him away. Dante sprawls over his brother’s body, legs threaded together and arms circling his torso, content. He’s got Vergil exactly the way he wants him—limp and compliant, boneless in the aftermath of his pleasure, hands trailing soft and slow tracks up and down Dante’s spine.

Dante burrows his face against his brother’s neck once more, breaths deep, and presses a kiss to his throat.

“So how about that evening off?” Dante asks, swapping gentle kisses for the sharp prick of his teeth into the soft flesh of his brother’s throat. “I dunno if I’ve thoroughly worshipped you yet. Might need to try a few more times.”

The laugh his brother huffs out in response is easy and unhindered, loosened by the hazy afterglow that follows his orgasm. 

“Fine,” Vergil says, dragging his hands up Dante’s back to curl his fingers through his hair, pulling him from the crook of his neck to press their foreheads together in an uncharacteristically tender expression of affection. “Prove to me your dedication, then, dear brother.”

Dante grins and captures Vergil’s mouth into another kiss. He could do this forever and he’d die happy, tangled in Vergil’s arms, held firm against his chest. He’s lost track of who’s in charge any more, but finds that neither he nor his inner demon seem to care—he focuses only on the press of their mouths, the warmth of Vergil’s body, and the gentle comfort that comes from being so closely intertwined with his twin.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/desalwayscries), where I retweet art, scream about fic progress, and dump useless headcanons nearly 24/7.


End file.
